I do not know how many hours we spent doing that. At school in Malambo, we dance a more traditional cumbia. The performance by Eli and Abasi’s friends looked similar, though more intense. I felt like getting up to dance, but my embarrassment was much bigger. I get angry at myself when that happens, because afterward I end up feeling small and foolish. My mother did not like foolish girls.
Today I scraped my knee playing on the court. We had been jumping around since morning with Eli and Abasi, who came early to tell me we should go to a dance rehearsal. Apparently, the bull festival is coming soon, and everyone has something to do. The dance group was another bunch of kids already ready to rehearse on the sidewalk in front of a house. Someone had brought a medium-sized speaker that played loudly, like one of those turbo lasers that echo through your body even when you are standing still watching, like me. I sat down just to observe because they already had the choreography set. From the sidewalk, we moved to the street looking for more space, and we ended up in the patio of another neighboring house, where some women were grinding cassava while the kids made noise and danced.
Thursday
